The Happiest Man on Earth
by Tamyou
Summary: "Dumbledore told me, 'The happiest man on Earth would look into the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is.' So maybe it's there to help us realize what's most important to us?" A little bittersweet oneshot for Harry's birthday. Draco/Harry. Post war, Hogwarts Professors Harry and Draco, Survivor's guilt, Mirror of Erised. Fluff and Angst.


A/N: How original of me, to post a bittersweet oneshot for Harry's birthday?

Summary: "Dumbledore told me, 'The happiest man on Earth would look into the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is.' So maybe it's there to help us realize what's most important to us?"

Warnings: Survivor guilt, Post war trauma, light angst.

I own nothing.

The Hogwarts castle was dark and quiet as the young professor soundlessly strolled through the empty halls. He was completely silent - there was not even a whisper of his cloak, no thump of his footsteps, not a hint of breath. He had learned to move in absolute silence long ago. Once upon a time, his life depended on it, and people do say that old habits die hard.

The nightly patrols were some of Harry's favorite duties as a freshly-hired Hogwarts Professor. He loved the peaceful solitude of the empty halls; nearly completely silent aside from the soft snores coming from the sleeping portraits. The calm darkness, illuminated only by the soft orange light from occasional sconces and his own wand, granted him comfort he could scarcely find. Roaming the quiet halls as the castle slept reminded him of simpler times, of his younger days at Hogwarts as a student, when he, Ron and Hermione used to sneak out at night under his father's cloak in search of a brand new adventure.

Harry sighed softly under his breath. The Hogwarts of his childhood was gone, as were so many other things - and people - he used to have. The castle was rebuilt almost from the ground after the Great Battle was over. Harry would know - he was there amongst the rest of the volunteers to help with the repairs, as were Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville. And, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy.

Stretching his stiff shoulders - helping Hagrid relocate the Christmas trees earlier that evening was not an easy task, even though Harry had grown quite a bit during the past five years - Harry glanced around. The castle was emptier than normal - of both students and teachers, as most of its usual residents went home for the holidays. Ron and Hermione had of course offered Harry to join them, but Harry had politely declined, knowing that his two best friends had their hands full with their new baby girl. It was fine. He didn't really mind staying in the castle, he told himself. It had always been his real home, and it wasn't like there were no other teachers there to hang out with. Even alone, he was fine.

In the distance, the faint chime of the astronomy tower clock could be heard, startling Harry from his thoughts. He counted all twelve beats, smiling to himself when he realized that it was Christmas day already.

"Merry Christmas, Harry." He whispered to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, merry Christmas." Grumbled one of the portraits, a bearded old wizard in faded yellow robes who looked quite disgruntled and annoyed at being woken up. "Now hush, boy. Some of us would like to get some sleep."

"Sorry," Harry whispered with an apologetic smile, hurrying further down the hall to avoid the yellow-robed wizard's tired glare.

He shivered a little as he turned the corner and stepped onto the staircase leading towards the dungeons. It was much colder down there, and Harry pulled his thick cloak tighter around himself. He would never understand how the Slytherins could stand the winters down in the damp, drafty dungeons. Especially Malfoy, who always seemed to be so spoiled. He would have been frozen to death down there, Harry thought with an amused snort as his mind conjured the mental image of a young Draco Malfoy, sitting curled up in a large armchair as if it were a throne, wrapped in furs like the villain from that dog film Harry remembered seeing glimpses of when Dudley was in his Disney phase.

Harry glanced around again, this time self-consciously. Thinking of Malfoy always made him feel... exposed. He always felt as if someone might be watching him, that his face would somehow betray the kind of thoughts that went through his mind where Draco Malfoy was concerned.

The thing is, Harry Potter was fairly sure he was developing a crush on one Draco Malfoy, and that crush was not something he liked to admit even to himself, most days. The years since the wars did wonders for Malfoy. No longer the leafy, snotty boy he once was, Malfoy had grown up - in more ways than one - to be a very handsome young man, all lean muscles and blond hair. He had completed his Master studies the year before, and was instantly hired for the Potions teaching position by Headmistress McGonagall, who was immensly glad to be rid of Slughorn and his little clubs.

Being the only teachers at the school under thirty, Harry and Draco soon found themselves having to socialize despite their best attempts to avoid each other. At first, the hesitant, careful camaraderie that had developed between them was born out of necessity - there was after all a limit to how long Harry could spend trying to be polite to Sybill Trelawney, who'd insisted on sitting next to him during every meal so she could pretend to see death omens in his porridge. After a few agonizing meals of forced smiles and strained nods, Harry had eventually given up on pretenses, and desperately turned to his other side, where Draco Malfoy was sitting in all of his green-robed glory, staring passively at his plate and avoiding any eye contact with the rest of the teachers and student body.

At first, Malfoy was unsurprisingly suspicious about Harry's motives, and on his part, Harry was still doing his best to put old differences aside, in which he was not always successful. Their conversations were strained for a while, as they both forced themselves to talk to each other in a civillized manner and ignore seven years of rivalry. It certainly helped that Malfoy had matured quite a lot and was no longer the bigoted little snot he once was, and that Harry was doing his best to reign in his temper whenever an insult about his hair slipped into Malfoy's otherwise careful responses. Harry would never be able to tell if asked when exactly did the awkward tension between them shift into a comfortable familiarity, but nonetheless, he was grateful for the friendship he's found in Draco Malfoy.

It was just so easy to talk to him. Naturally, Malfoy was hesitant at first to talk about the war and his time with the Death Eaters, but with Harry coming down every evening to his dungeon quarters for tea and conversation, unabashedly sitting beside him on the comfortable sofa with a cheerful fire to keep them warm, it was easy to forget they were once enemies. They had a great deal of pain and memories to share between them, and they both soon found that the hurt was getting easier to carry if they only talked.

One thing Harry was sure he would never be able to talk about, however, was the fact that lately, every time Draco Malfoy had smiled at him, he felt like the giant aquid was dropping into his stomach and flipping around with careless abandon. He couldn't help it. Malfoy was always a very handsome bloke, and now that he wasn't trying to pick a fight with Harry all the time and had obviously grown out of the prejudiced worldview he had been raised with, it became extremely easy for Harry to start seeing him in a new, very attractive light.

The insults that once upon a time used to flare up his temper took on a more teasing note, and their occasional fights - because some things never change - were no longer aimed to be hurtful and vicious, but more of an affectionate banter, a back and forth battle that they both enjoyed, and if judging by the sly, amused looks Sinistra and Hooch were sending their way during meals, the other teachers did too. It didn't help Harry's growing feelings that Malfoy was always so perfectly groomed and unfairly handsome. He was always so meticulously dressed, not a hair out of place, and he smelled really nice, Harry had noticed when they sat together for tea last week, trying very hard not to blush.

Shaking his head with a scowl, Harry raised his wand again to illuminate the dark dungeon corridor. He had to stop thinking this way. Just because they were getting along these days didn't mean Malfoy would suddenly return Harry's feelings.

Harry shivered again. The dungeons were really an awful place to be in during the winter. He longed for the fire and cosy armchairs he knew still occupied the Gryffindor common room. Or maybe the tamer fire in Malfoy's quarters, the one that could always beat the chill and draft coming from the cold stone walls. Or maybe the fire from that normaly empty classroom over there, Harry perked up, hurrying towards the warm, inviting glow that was peeking from under the closed door. He knew a few of the other teachers had claimed some of the empty classrooms to use as an unofficial office. He wondered if it would be alright for him to warm up a little by one of their fires before he resumed his patrol.

The door creaked open at the lightest touch of Harry's fingers, and his gaze immediately shot to the front of the classroom, an apology already on the tip of his tongue for disturbing whoever was occupying the room.

The words died on his lips at the sight that greeted him, his eyes widening as a slow breath left his lungs. He swallowed hard, heart beating madly against his ribs as he took one step inside the room, hand sliding off the door's handle. His wand was threatening to slip from his suddenly weak grasp and Harry instinctively tightened his hold, the knuckles almost white from the pressure. He didn't even notice as his feet moved as if on their own, taking one, two steps further into the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

"It can't be," he let out a shuddering breath, feeling as if the years were falling from his body and suddenly he was eleven again, a lonely orphan in a red jumper, staring up into a mirror that held everything he could never have.

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi." Harry's lips mouthed the familiar, elegantly carved words that stretched across the top of the tall mirror. He moved forwards until he was standing right in front of it, his heart beating so fast, so hard, Harry thought it would break out of his chest any moment now.

And there they were, just as they were eleven years ago. There were his grandparents, cousins, uncles and aunts, with their knobbly knees and thick eyebrows and messy hair just like his, surrounding the two people Harry's gaze kept coming back to.

His mother, young and beautiful, with her loving smile, still brilliant and warm despite the tears that leaked from her eyes. And his father, with the same messy hair, the same jaw that Harry had now, beaming with pride that made Harry's throat feel a little tighter. They looked the same as they did when Harry first saw them in that blasted mirror, but they were not alone this time.

Next to James, healthier and happier than Harry had ever seen them, stood Sirius and Remus. They didn't look not a day older than their last day alive as they stood there with their arms slung over each other's shoulders, smiling at Harry with a kind of joy he couldn't remember ever seeing on their faces. Sirius gave a little wave of his hand when their eyes met, fingers wiggling mischieviously, and Harry had to swallow down a sob that threatened to escape his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hand stretching out to touch the surface of the mirror. His eyes scanned the crowd that was still smiling at him, hungrily taking in the sight of Tonks with her bright pink hair. Of Cedric, who was standing right next to her, grinning at Harry with that shy, lopsided smile of his, of Lavender Brown, Mad-eye Moody, Colin Creevy... of Fred Weasley, who was standing there with a painfully familiar snowy owl perching on his arm. None of them seemed to age at all, and suddenly it dawned on Harry that he was now older than his parents ever had the chance to be. His chest felt tight. Too tight, as if to hold his heart together, to keep it from breaking. He swallowed again, but this time he could feel a tear escaping, sliding down his cheek. "I'm so sorry." Harry choked out. "I wish I could have saved you, I wish-"

"Potter?"

Harry spun around so fast it knocked the breath out of him. Eyes wide and alarmed, he quickly stepped away from the mirror and further into the room in a quick, defensive motion, his panicked gaze finding Malfoy standing at the door, looking equal parts concerned and uncomfortable. Somewhere in the back of his mind, past the haze of panic, Harry was hysterically reminded of a similiar situation taking place in a dingy bathroom, seven years ago.

"Malfoy," Harry breathed, standing straighter and trying to regain his composure. He didn't think he did a very good job, though, if the worried expression on Malfoy's face was any indication.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked, quickly crossing the room over to where Harry was standing, his hands instantly reaching to grab his shoulders. "You were crying." He said. Harry recognized that tone. It wasn't a question. It was their way of letting the other know they could talk, and that someone would be willing to listen.

And, yet, Harry still shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"You were crying." Draco repeated, his grip on Harry's shoulders tightening as he watched the other's face carefully. "Tell me."

"It's really nothing," Harry tried again, but the look on Malfoy's face left no room for lying. He sighed, gesturing back. "It's just... this mirror," he swallowed again as he caught sight of the words on top.

Malfoy slowly released him, stepping closer to where the mirror was proudly standing, inspecting it suspiciously. "The mirror?" He asked distractedly. "What does it do?"

"Shows me my heart's greatest desire." Harry said quietly. "Shows me my parents. Family. The people who died."

Draco stood up straight as his grey eyes focused sharply on Harry, the mirror forgotten. Without a word, he took two brisk steps towards Harry, closing the distance between them and before Harry could even blink, pulled him tightly into his arms.

Harry felt his breath leaving him at once the moment he collided with Draco's chest. His pulse picked up again, his heart lodging in his throat as he breathed in, his lungs filling with Draco's scent, making his head feel fuzzy. Weakly, he moved his hands up, hesitantly allowing himself to return the hug. He tightened his hold to stop the tremble of his arms, and it took him a long moment to realize it wasn't him that was shaking.

"It wasn't your fault," Draco whispered softly into his hair, his breath tickling his ear, and this time it was Harry who shivered. "It wasn't mine. We were just children in a war. You know we were."

"I know." Harry whispered back, if only to please him.

"It wasn't your fault." Draco mumbled again with conviction, his voice on the verge of desperation, and something inside Harry cracked when he suddenly realized how stupid he was to think that Draco's feelings were any different than his own.

"I know." He said again with a voice thick with emotion.

They stayed blissfully trapped in each other's embrace for a little while longer, not willing to let go now that they had taken the step they were both dreading for weeks. Harry felt his muscles relax as the warmth from Draco's body chased the chill of the dungeons away. He couldn't help but feeling disappointed when Draco began shifting away.

"This mirror..." Draco sighed, slowly pulling away, although he kept his arms loosely around Harry's shoulders, as if reluctant to let him go, and Harry couldn't help the blush that surely was pinking his cheeks. "It's a cruel invention. Why would anyone make this?"

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore told me, 'The happiest man on Earth would look into the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is.' So maybe it's there to help us realize what's most important to us?"

Draco frowned. "Perhaps," He agreed doubtingly. "Either way, we're leaving, and we're locking this door behind us. Tomorrow I'll talk to McGonagall about getting rid of this."

Harry nodded reluctantly, giving the mirror one last longing glance. "I can't come with you, though. I still have my patrols to finish."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're done for tonight." He said firmly. "Now come with me, as you are obviously in need of some hot tea and a good talk."

Harry snorted. Draco could be such a mother hen sometimes. Not that Harry would ever say that out loud. He did value his life, after all. "Alright," he conceded, offering Draco a soft smile. "Tea and good company does sound brilliant. I'm freezing."

"Well, maybe I could warm you up." Draco smirked in what he surely believed was smug confidence, but Harry, his own face still burning from the implication and the hug, could see the faint blush that was staining Draco's pale face.

"Well, maybe you could." Harry smirked back. He pulled his cloak tighter, then moved closer to Draco and slipped his hand into his, leading him towards the door. When they passed by the mirror, however, Harry stopped, taking a step back and then closer, the hand holding Draco's stretching as the taller man stayed standing on his spot.

"Oh."

"What is it?" Draco asked worriedly, watching Harry's curious expression. Harry turned his head, his hand squeezing Draco's when their eyes met.

"The mirror," Harry said, and the soft smile of pure happiness on his face took Draco's breath away. "It's different."

"Different?"

"You're in there now, too."

A/N: Reviews are food for a writer's soul.


End file.
